


Father Once Spoke of an Angel

by princejoopie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I See Dead People, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, No Romance, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting, child klaus, i mean he's already dead but still, idk how to tag, just dave being a sweetheart, we live by the klave we die by the klave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 02:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20900333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princejoopie/pseuds/princejoopie
Summary: There he was again. Just like he always had been. But... this time was different.





	Father Once Spoke of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totallyevan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyevan/gifts).

> So, this is for Day 4 of Evan's TUA Inktober prompts. Today's was "death," and I couldn't draw today for the life of me (ha), so I spent hours finishing this and now I'm uploading it at like 11:30 pm. We did it, boys. (Also, yes that's a Phantom title. Yes I'm _that_ guy.)

There he was again. Just like he always had been. But... this time was different.

It went back as far as he could remember. Faint flashes of looking out through the bars of his crib and seeing a strange man peeking in through the doorway. Not angry, not yelling at him like all the other people that visited. Just smiling.

As soon as Klaus was talking, he was talking about the "nice green man." The man would read to him at night sometimes, after Grace tucked him in. She would've read to them all if she could've, but it would be difficult with seven five-year-olds and a strictly enforced bedtime. No matter, though, as the kind man would always sit at the end of the bed and read whatever book Klaus wished.

He always had his other hand held up to his chest. Not like a salute or anything- just resting there. Klaus remembers wondering at the time if the man had a bad word written on his shirt or something.

His answer came at age seven. He was running up the stairs to grab his notebook before their next lesson, and as he quickly rounded a turn, he found himself running straight through the green man.

They both stopped and turned in surprise, Klaus's eyes darting to the man's chest. More specifically, the bloody hole through it. The man quickly reached to cover it, but Klaus was still staring at him, wide-eyed.

Klaus had known the guy was dead, of course. But he'd never really given any thought to _how_ he died. In that moment, the realization crashed down on him all too suddenly, though. The green uniform, the fact that he definitely looked young for a grownup, and now the huge gunshot wound oozing blood into his shirt.

It made Klaus _sad_ more than anything else. The green man was clearly a _soldier,_ who died in a _war._ A war he probably didn't even want to be a part of. Looking up and meeting his worried, apologetic gaze, Klaus found himself growing terribly sad, and he turned to continue running toward his room so he wouldn't start crying.

He didn't see the soldier for almost a year after that. Klaus suspected the man thought he was scared of him.

And the day he returned was one of the worst days of Klaus's life.

He doesn't remember arriving there with his father. But he remembers the screams. _God,_ does he remember the screams. They were _loud_ and they were _everywhere._ The people were _begging_ him for help and he had no idea what to do. He was eight for Christ's sake, what _could_ he do?

But then a soft, gentle voice cut through the noise clearer than dead silence would've. "Hey," was all it said. Klaus opened his eyes, and through the blur of his tears he saw the soldier shoving his way through the crowd. He broke through, crouching down in front of Klaus and saying, "Hey, you're gonna be alright, kiddo. I know it's scary, but I'm here with you."

And for the next nine hours, he was. The other dead kept trying to push past the soldier, but he was in good shape, and firmly held his spot close to Klaus. "Thank you... thank you," the boy was mumbling over and over. His eyes were closed tightly again, and although he couldn't touch him, just knowing the man was there with him was enough.

He stayed with Klaus until Reginald freed him in the morning, and for the next few years he'd show up every now and then, just like he used to. Making sure the boy was okay when his dad was particularly tough on him, comforting him when he was lonely, still reading to him on occasion; he was like Klaus's guardian angel.

But then came _that_ day. That fateful day in July when Klaus was just shy of thirteen. The day Reginald was holed up in his office and his siblings were off eating the cupcakes Grace had just finished frosting, and Klaus was alone in the living room. And three ghosts wouldn't stop yelling at him. And there was the bar, not even twenty feet away.

In the coming months, the soldier started showing up less and less. Klaus wasn't sure if he'd scared the man off, or if he was still there like all the others and just couldn't be seen anymore. In the rare moments that Klaus thought about him, he found himself wishing it wasn't the latter. His angel didn't deserve to watch his spiral of self-destruction.

By his eighteenth birthday, he hadn't been sober for a day in two years. And he hadn't seen the soldier in that time either.

Klaus didn't see him much in his twenties either, he didn't think. It was tough to be sure. He didn't remember much at all from that time. It was all a blur. An endless cycle of waking up to haunting screams, looking for something to eat, which was more often than not shoplifted from a mini-mart, then spending his day popping pills and looking for shit to pawn, and then if that didn't work, or even if it did, he'd end up in some shithole bar flirting his way to free drinks and finding someone to leave with, whether it be for money or just to get off the streets for the night.

Occasionally, he'd think he saw the soldier out of the corner of his eye, just for a second. Usually looking _angry._ But Klaus never felt like the anger was directed towards him. It always seemed more towards whatever man he was with, or his dad, or the world in general.

Those glimpses of him were few and far between, though.

The first time he got a good look at him in years was when he finally finished rehab. To say Klaus was sober the full thirty days would be a lie, but it was easily the least amount of drugs he'd done in any one month of his adult life.

He climbed up to his bunk, ready to leave the next day, and his eyes landed on the soldier in the opposite corner, smiling at him. "I'm so proud of you," the man said, almost too quietly to hear.

Klaus almost felt bad when he overdosed the next night. Almost.

He spent the next three days high again. Back home, but still high. The pills helped numb the absolute _insanity_ of it all. His dad was dead. His brother was back and apparently almost sixty, and telling everyone that the world was about to end. And that's setting aside Klaus getting kidnapped and tortured for a full day.

That afternoon, one day sober and surrounded by the ghosts of his strange tormenters' victims, his eyes kept sifting through the crowd, hoping to see the soldier again, hoping the man would comfort him like he used to as a child. But he was nowhere to be found.

Klaus was freed later that night, by a woman he vaguely recognized from a few of his stints spent locked in the police station. He scrambled to the only exit he could reach while avoiding the gunshots now echoing through the tiny room. Pulling the grate off, he shoved himself into the air duct, pushing with him the large case that had been stored there.

_Finally,_ he thought, stepping onto the bus moments later, _my luck is starting to turn around._ Klaus hugged the briefcase as if it was all that was tethering him to reality. It had to be full of money, or something valuable. Why else would the pair hide it away like that, right?

He clicked it open, and in a flash of white light he was thrown onto the dirt ground inside a tent, his head spinning violently.

He looked up in shock and- there he was. The soldier. The man who'd held his hand through his entire childhood. His guardian angel.

There he was again. Just like he always had been. But... this time was different. This time he was alive.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! I hope to publish more in the future but I have a crippling fear of criticism. *whips*


End file.
